We began on solid ground, acknowledging that the team is round and extraordinary, a collective effort where cinema operates as a shared vocation for many hands. The discussion turns toward Galicia2010, the rural drama that echoes Cela’s Estremadura1940, and whether our turbulent history has truly advanced over seven decades. In the heat of a fast-moving world, some forces regress, especially in areas like violence and xenophobia. These impulses surface as part of the human condition, and the challenge is to understand them without simplifying them into convenient labels.
Those who make films often face a demand for clear heroes and villains, yet the choice here is to lean into uncertainty. The work does not aim to offer simple archetypes but to provoke questions about moral complexity. Quick, tweet-sized conclusions are criticized for being lazy and for fueling extremism by filling minds with ready-made rationales.
The question about meeting the murderers and asking why is answered with candid fear. The team did not pursue direct conversations with the perpetrators. Instead, the script was developed from news items reframed as fiction, preserving the human impact while avoiding sensationalism. A first contact was made with the widow, Margo Pool, to convey the intent of the project and to ensure her privacy at home in Santoalla, Ourense, was respected.
As for wind energy and migration patterns, the dialogue acknowledges the existence of experts, but positions the issue as a broader economic struggle driven by capitalist dynamics. The expectation that money alone will drive outcomes is met with skepticism about whether such incentives truly address deeper needs.
Luis Zahera, portraying the central figure, remarked on the film as a vivid reflection of Galicia. This prompted discussions about how Galician identity is represented. Some viewers felt the portrayal was sensitive to questions of belonging, while others saw a universal texture that could be translated to places as far apart as Texas or an African town.
When asked whether the widow Margo Pool could forgive, the response remains intimate and cautious. Forgiveness is portrayed as a path that requires inner peace, something not easily measured or earned, and the filmmaker concedes that personal capacity for such mercy may vary widely.
Ambiguity is not merely a stylistic choice but a deliberate stance against hate. The aim of the filmmaking process is cerebral rather than combative—emotions are stirred, facts are clarified, and the storytelling itself is crafted to disturb or challenge the audience into deeper reflection rather than to deliver a decisive verdict.
The origin of the event referenced as A rapa das bestas is clarified: it did not spring from a male-dominated ritual but from a cohort of women who kept the community alive when men were scarce. Their actions—protecting horses, steering clear of wolves, safeguarding the land—illustrate a deep-rooted love for the territory and for the animals that sustain it. The portrayal of the ritual in Sabucedo, Pontevedra, and the broader context are used to illuminate how images can reveal brutal possibilities without endorsing them.
The interview touches on gender dynamics, suggesting that fear rather than reverence drives certain behaviors toward women. Misogyny, it is suggested, stems from insecurity, a pattern that manifests as violence when power is perceived as being threatened.
Regarding personal memory, the filmmaker reflects on the power of family photographs. The most striking image is not the frame itself but the memory of a father taking a child to the cinema, a moment that shaped the narrator’s understanding of movies and family history long before he could articulate it.
Facing a hypothetical scenario about a Spanish Civil War series, the questions turn to the ethical choices in times of upheaval. The filmmaker contemplates what one might do if confronted by an unjust and brutal revolt against a democratic state. The answer is cautious and conditional: some circumstances force flight, while others demand resistance, and there is no universal rule that fits every situation.
In sum, the interview weaves together a mosaic of memory, landscape, and moral inquiry. It invites viewers to consider how a community’s rituals, fears, and loyalties illuminate the human condition without surrendering to easy judgments. The film stands as a meditation on how beauty and brutality can coexist, and how storytelling can challenge audiences to reflect on the roots of hate and the possibilities for forgiveness and understanding.